The Forest's Fury

Argon ventures into the dense forest in the southern region outside Duskhaven. This forest is known for its twisted and gnarled trees, casting an eerie shadow over the land. It is a labyrinthine woodland where strange creatures roam. The forest presents both danger and opportunity, making it an ideal hunting ground for Argon as he seeks to secure sustenance and uncover new truths about himself and his medallion.

Argon trudged through the rugged terrain in the wilderness; just as he envisioned the weight of gold his kills would bring, a rogue tree root, hidden under the overgrown foliage and dust, tripped him up. He barely had time to react as he was hurled forward, his balance irrevocably shattered.

Argon found himself face-first in a muddy puddle, the cold muck seeping into his clothes, chilling his skin, and fouling his mouth. He tasted earth and grime, the wet dirt sticking to his teeth. His body was drenched in the murky water; his rags were caked with wet soil.

The taste of earth was a grim reminder of his surroundings, the rich, musty flavour a testament to the unforgiving wilderness. Mud plastered his hair and seeped into his eyes, blurring his vision with dirty streaks.

The fall left him winded, the damp soil doing little to cushion his fall. He felt the hard thud reverberating in his chest, a sharp sting on his cheek where it kissed the rough ground, and a burgeoning bruise on his knee that throbbed with each beat of his heart.

He couldn't afford to be a fool in this unforgiving wilderness. The beasts lurking in the shadows would make no distinction between the ignorant and the clever. Survival demanded vigilance, cunning, and adaptability.

Argon's ears pricked at the faint sound of voices as he continued his journey. He instinctively crouched low, concealing himself behind a cluster of boulders. Peering through the cracks, he caught sight of a small group of goblins.

The goblins squinted in the dwindling sunlight, their beady eyes reflecting a malicious glee. Their gnarled bodies, sickly green and marred with scars, were hunched as they moved around. Clad in nothing more than rags, their scrawny forms were a testament to their savage and primitive existence.

Their guttural voices echoed around the vicinity, a garbled mix of grunts and howls that sent a shiver down Argon's spine. They seemed to communicate among themselves, unaware of the human predator hidden nearby, eyeing them with deadly intent. They were grotesque, vile creatures, embodiments of the harsh world that was Nekros.

Yet, Argon's face did not contort in disgust. Instead, it hardened, the glint in his eyes reflecting a ruthless determination. They were abominations, yes, but they were also his ticket to survival. It was kill or be killed in this world, and Argon intended to be the one left standing.

Their rusty weapons and tattered garments mirrored his own pitiful gear.

The goblins were notorious for their cunning and bloodlust. Crossing paths with them in a group meant facing almost certain death. Argon knew he had to tread carefully, avoiding detection at all costs. He observed their crude campsite from a distance, silently calculating his options.

After a while of observation, to his surprise, two goblins departed, leaving only two behind. Their reason for their departure was unknown, but it presented an opportunity. He might secure a much-needed advantage in this brutal world if he could eliminate two goblins without raising the alarm.

Drawing upon every ounce of stealth and precision, Argon moved like a shadow toward the unsuspecting goblins. His heart pounded in his chest, and his grip on his rusty blade tightened. The wind carried the scent of impending danger, and he knew one misstep would lead to his demise.

Argon watched the goblin from his concealed position, his grip tightening around the hilt of his rusty sword. The creatures were grotesque, their scrawny bodies marred with pockmarked scars and mottled skin that shimmered in the moonlight. They scurried around, beady eyes gleaming with a dull, feral intelligence.

He had waited for this moment, savoured it. A cruel smile twisted his lips as he emerged from his hiding spot, his body coiling with anticipation. With a burst of speed that belied his size, he surged forward, closing the gap between him and the goblin.

The first creature barely had time to register his presence before his sword swung down in a lethal arc, a grim dance of death and iron. The blade, rusty and notched from countless fights, sliced through the air, a metallic symphony heralding the goblin's end.

The blade met resistance as it cleaved through the goblin's flesh, a sickening crunch echoing as it shattered bone. Blood sprayed in a grisly arc, painting the landscape in a fresh coat of crimson. The goblin's shrill cries of agony were cut short as Argon wrenched his sword free, silencing it forever.

Seeing its compatriot dead on the ground, the second goblin went berserk. Its high-pitched shriek of rage echoed through the forest, and it lunged at Argon with a mad glint in its beady eyes. The nasty little fucker moved faster than he expected, slashing at him with its crude dagger.

"Damn it!" Argon spat, sidestepping a wild lunge. The creature was fast, its movements fueled by rage and fear. He knew he had to end this quickly before it could land a lucky hit.

With a bellow of his own, Argon lunged forward. His worn-out sword clashed against the goblin's weapon, sparks flying as metal met metal. He pushed back, his superior strength forcing the goblin off balance.

Taking advantage of its momentary vulnerability, Argon twisted his grip and slashed across. His blade cut through the air and found its mark, tearing open the goblin's throat. A garbled screech escaped the creature as it clutched at the fatal wound, dark blood seeping between its fingers.

It stumbled backwards, tripping over its own feet, and fell to the ground, twitching. It took a few moments for the convulsions to stop. Its lifeless eyes stared at Argon, a final accusation before the light in them completely extinguished.

"Cunt," Argon muttered, cleaning his blade on the creature's ragged clothes. The second goblin was dead, and Argon was one step closer to his goal.

"Stupid fucking vermin," Argon spat, his voice echoing through the quiet expanse. He wiped the goblin's foul blood on his rags, smearing the dark fabric with its life essence. The metallic scent filled his nostrils, a stark reminder of the brutal world they inhabited.

He cast a glance at his sword, the blade now coated in a sticky layer of goblin blood. It was an ugly thing, notched and rusty from disuse. But it had served its purpose well. It was his lifeline, his only ally in this desolate world.

Without wasting any time, Argon swiftly pocketed the small cores, and, with one last glance at the dead goblins, he turned to leave. He knew that the sounds of the struggle could've attracted more of the nasty fuckers. The last thing he needed was a horde of those green-skinned shits descending upon him.

His senses were on high alert as he moved further from the scene of his battle, his eyes and ears scanning the surroundings for any sign of additional goblins. His grip on his sword remained firm, ready for any fucker daring enough to show his face.

Carrying the goblin's body back to Duskhaven was out of the question. The city's soldiers and scavengers would steal it from him without a second thought. Instead, Argon sought refuge in the ruins of an ancient structure, its crumbling walls providing a temporary sanctuary.

With a slight flick of flint against steel, he ignited a fire. The flames danced and crackled, casting eerie shadows on the weathered stone. Argon skillfully skinned and prepared the goblin, utilizing his limited knowledge to make the most of the meagre meal. The sizzling sound of flesh meeting fire echoed through the ruins, and the aroma of cooked meat filled the air.

As he devoured the meagre feast, gratitude and despair overwhelmed him. The taste of meat, the sensation of being full after years of hunger, stirred something deep within him. Tears mingled with his meal as he contemplated the wretchedness of his existence.

Argon surveyed the remnants of the goblin carcass he had feasted upon. He found the beast's cores, the only thing of value to the wretched creature and stashed it. The meagre sustenance it provided had temporarily quelled the gnawing hunger within him. However, his survival instincts kicked in, reminding him of the danger that the scent of fresh blood would soon attract.

With a mix of caution and practicality, Argon decided to abandon the goblin remains. He knew leaving it behind would serve as a morbid offering, luring other beasts to feast upon the leftover scraps. The circle of life and death continued in the wilderness, and he had no intention of being caught in the crossfire.

Stumbling slightly as he moved to sit down, the small core in Argon's hand jostled against the medallion hanging at his neck. There was a soft, almost imperceptible hum, and before he could pull it away, the medallion swallowed the core.

"What the fuck!" Argon blurted out, staring wide-eyed as the medallion gave off a faint glow. His shock soon gave way to irritation. That core was meant to earn him coin, not to be gobbled up by his medallion.

"Damn it," he grumbled, glaring at the gently glowing medallion. Yet, despite his irritation, there was a spark of curiosity in his eyes. He had never seen the medallion react like this before. He had no idea what it was capable of or how it functioned. Now, it seemed, it was giving him a glimpse into its capabilities.

"Could've warned me, you glowing piece of shit," he muttered, turning the medallion over. Despite his harsh words, his voice had a hint of awe. This small incident proved that his medallion was more than a decorative trinket. It held power, and he was eager to uncover its secrets. He just wished it hadn't cost him a valuable core.

Argon set off again, securing the valuable core and retracing his steps to where he had taken down the goblin. The hope of another successful hunt burned within him, driving him forward. But to his disappointment, the area lay empty, devoid of potential prey. Fortune had eluded him this time.

Argon cursed under his breath, frustration mingling with the desperation constantly gnawed at him. He had become intimately familiar with the cruel whims of fate, and it seemed that his journey was once again met with disappointment. However, he knew that succumbing to despair would only seal his fate.

Argon's determination pushed him back to the site of the abandoned goblin carcass. A new plan had taken root within him, fueled by the hope of ambushing a beast feasting on the remains. He knew the risks involved, but the prospect of securing a substantial meal and potential resources spurred him forward.

As he approached the scene cautiously, his senses heightened, Argon spotted a mole rat engrossed in devouring the goblin's remains. Its sharp claws tore through the flesh, its teeth gnashing with primal hunger. He had been waiting for a chance to catch the beast off guard.

Silently, Argon crept closer, his footsteps as light as a whisper. He relied on his skills in stealth, inching his way towards the unsuspecting creature. With each step, his heart pounded in his chest, a mix of excitement and trepidation coursing through his veins.

Finally, within striking distance, Argon drew his blade, ready to unleash a swift attack. However, the reality of his situation hit him hard. Despite its limited improvement, his rusty sword was ill-equipped to deal with the whole side of the mole rat. His initial strike fell short, barely scratching the surface.

The mole rat's attention snapped towards its would-be assailant, its beady eyes filled with fury. It lunged forward, a torrent of aggression unleashed. Argon braced himself, knowing he had entered a battle against a formidable opponent.

Blows were exchanged, and the odds seemed stacked against Argon. The mole rat's strength and ferocity threatened to overpower him, its razor-sharp teeth and claws seeking to claim his life. Desperation coursed through Argon's veins as he fought to stay alive, his determination to survive driving him forward.

Just as the mole rat's jaws closed in, poised to bite Argon's vulnerable neck, a surge of energy coursed through Argon's body as the medallion activated its power. In an instant, a formless barrier materialized, enveloping the area where the mole rat's attack was directed. The translucent and ethereal shield created an impenetrable barrier that halted the creature's deadly assault.

The mole rat's snarling jaws clashed against the invisible force field, and its relentless determination met with an unexpected obstacle. Argon's eyes widened in astonishment as he realized the medallion had saved his life. The barrier absorbed the creature's brutal force, preventing its teeth from tearing through his flesh.

With the mole rat momentarily stunned by the impact, Argon seized the opportunity. He swiftly adjusted his stance and, fueled by a surge of adrenaline, thrust his rusty sword towards the creature's vulnerable underbelly. Though dulled and worn, the blade found its mark, piercing through the mole rat's flesh. Argon plunged his blade into the mole rat's underbelly, hitting its vital organs. The creature let out a final screech of pain before collapsing to the ground, life extinguished. Argon's chest heaved with exertion and relief, a mix of triumph and exhaustion washing over him.

With the mole rat defeated, Argon wasted no time. He carefully retrieved the creature's magical core—a source of potential power and value in this world. Satisfied with his spoils, he dragged the carcass to another secluded spot in the ruins where he could feast without attracting unwanted attention.

With the rusty sword in hand, Argon's thoughts drifted back to an old tale. A tale he overheard from a vagabond telling his son during one of his toiling days. The tale spoke of an artefact, a piece of circular metal, which was said to emit an ethereal azure glow. According to the man's tale, this artefact granted the gift of immortality to its bearer. At the time, Argon had dismissed the story as nothing more than a fanciful yarn spun to entertain a child. But now, holding the medallion and feeling the strange whispers emanating from it, he couldn't help but wonder if there was a grain of truth in that vagabond's tale. Could this medallion in his hands be like that fabled artefact?

A fire crackled to life as Argon prepared the mole rat for consumption. He skinned and butchered the creature with practised precision, extracting every morsel of edible meat. The scent of roasted flesh filled the air, offering a tantalizing reprieve from the constant hunger that haunted him.

Argon allowed himself a moment of respite as he savoured the meal, the taste of victory mingling with the satisfying nourishment of fresh meat. With a full belly, he quickly slept.